


against a sea of troubles

by RedRoci



Series: in their blood the Maker's will is written [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, because i have read and enjoyed worse things, but I am going to publish anyway, so there, this is not good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRoci/pseuds/RedRoci
Summary: yet another retelling of dragon age origins, with some correction for the things that bioware Did Wrong.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: in their blood the Maker's will is written [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647070
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time in a castle on the northern coast of Ferelden, where it was the closest that nation ever got to being warm and where you could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs even miles inland, a little boy taught his little sister how to swing a sword. In a corner behind the stables, out of sight of the master-at-arms in the training yard, Fergus gave little Ava her very first dagger and made her promise not to tell Mother. 

Three years later, age ten, Ava pulled that self-same dagger on a man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself at Fergus’s wedding and nearly turned the event into an international incident. Their mother the Teryna shook her head and apologized for her daughter’s language, but was decidedly silent on the matter of the almost-stabbing. Teyrn Bryce only just managed to avoid beaming with pride at his daughter’s actions, and commented to another member of the wedding party on how very like her mother Ava was. Eleanor, once the rebel pirate known as the Sea Wolf, gave her husband an indulgent smile and a nudge in the ribs. “Now, darling, no war stories at weddings, you know the rule.” Later, in private before leaving with his bride on their honeymoon, Fergus got the dressing down of his life, not for giving his little sister a blade, but for the piecemeal nature of her training. An Antivan tutor was hired on by House Cousland before the week was out, and Ava’s training was extended in ways her brother could not have hoped to teach: how to disappear on the battlefield, how to strike with her left hand while her foe was occupied with her right, and more. How to identify poisons, how to counteract them. How to make them. From her father, she learned to be a diplomat. From her mother, she learned to be a pragmatist. Of course, it doesn’t matter how refined and clever you are, or how well you can keep your temper seven years later, people never really forget that one time you almost stabbed a minor noble at a party. Even if he _did_ deserve it. 

“Your father wishes to speak with you, my lady.” 

Ava looked up at the guardsman standing in the doorway. “What, now?” She’d just come in from the practice yard, still in her armor. She knew Arl Howe and his men were expected, but she thought she would have heard the noise of several hundred soldiers arriving. 

“I’d assume so, my lady. He only said to go and find you. He’s in the great hall.”

“Of course. I’ll be right along.”

Ava had never been particularly fond of Rendon Howe, though her father thought of him as a brother. He’d always been precisely courteous with her and her mother, but she suspected him of being unkind to his own family and had directly witnessed his capacity for cruelty with the servants at Highever. But he was friends with her father, and had been since they were children, had fought side by side with him in the rebellion against Orlais. 

“And here’s my lovely daughter,” Bryce commented as she entered, having exchanged her armor for clean clothes. 

“A pleasure to see you again, as always,” Howe said, nodding to her. “I understand you continue to indulge her martial training. How...novel.”

Bryce laughed. “My fierce girl. Eleanor complains that I’ve taught her to fight off suitors, but if they need to be warned off with a blade, they’re not worth her.”

“Indeed. Incidentally, young lady, my son Thomas asked after you.”

Ava suppressed a shiver of revulsion. The arl’s younger son, two years her senior, and an entitled, possessive, cruel boy. His father’s favorite, for some reason. His older brother had been sent away to squire in the Free Marches some time ago, Starkhaven if memory served, but Ava remembered him as the kinder, more honorable of the two and had often wondered at the apparent rift between him and his father. 

“We’re both a little young yet, Uncle. But I appreciate the thought.” 

Bryce chuckled, and Howe joined in. “Independent lass still, my girl. But that’s not why I called you, child. Ava, this is Ser Duncan.” A tall man in blue and silver materialized at the teyrn’s elbow. Dark skin, dark hair shot with grey pulled back from his face. A gold earring in one ear, and a silver griffon pinning his cloak in place. A Grey Warden. She’d seen him earlier, she realized, outside of the practice yard an hour ago, talking to one of the guardsmen. 

“Well met, Ser Duncan. What brings the Grey Wardens to Highever?”

“The Blight, I’m afraid,” he began. Rivaini accent.

“Duncan is recruiting,” the teyrn cut in. “Has his eye on young Ser Gilmore, I believe.”

“Indeed. Though, if I may be so bold, your daughter would also make a fine recruit.”

“Absolutely not,” Bryce snapped. “My daughter is off limits, so unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?” Framed as a question, but there was an implicit threat in the tone. Duncan held up both hands in a placating gesture. “No, Teyrn Cousland, of course not. Merely an observation, from having seen her train.”

The teyrn nodded, sufficiently mollified. “Ava, you’re to see that Ser Duncan has anything he needs while your brother and I are gone.”

“Of course,” she said automatically. 

“Good, then that’s settled. I know you’re more than capable of keeping things in order here while we’re away, darling. Howe’s men are delayed on the road, so your brother will be leaving with our men today, and Rendon and I will follow with his men when they arrive tomorrow.”

“Again, my lord, I apologize for the delay,” Howe began, but Bryce waved him off, back to his cheerful self. 

“These things happen, old friend. Now, Ava darling, go find your brother, please. Let him know he’ll be going on ahead.”

  
  


Supper was a quieter affair than usual, without Fergus around to make jokes and exasperate their mother. The mood at the table was subdued over all, the safe return of fathers and brothers and friends a looming uncertainty. Not an unfamiliar feeling, to be sure, but never a pleasant one. Bryce attempted to lighten the mood by telling Oren the story of how he and Eleanor had met (she’d shot him, it was exactly the kind of tale a five year old boy loves to hear over dinner), to much eye-rolling from his wife and the occasional interjection from Howe, who’d been there. It was a losing battle, however, what with Fergus’s empty seat seeming to take up more and more of the room as the evening went on, and finally the Teyrn surrendered to an early night. 

“You’ll have a lot on your plate the next few months, Ava, but it’s nothing you won’t be able to handle. And mind your mother, she usually knows best.”

“‘Usually,’ love?” Eleanor smirked.

“Oh, well. You did shoot me that one time, my dear.”

“ _You_ were disguised as an Orlesian, you can hardly fault me for shooting at an _Orlesian_ attempting to approach my ship.”

“Certainly, my love, you are absolutely correct. As always.” 

Thirty years hadn’t made her parents any less starry-eyed teenagers than they had been when they met. “I’m sure everything will be fine here, Father. Be safe,” she added, her expression turning serious. 

Bryce’s expression reflected hers. Any promise made to come home safe and whole would be a hollow one, and they both knew it. He pulled her into a hug instead. “I will see you again, darling.” _In this life, or at the Maker’s side_.

  
  


She woke to the sound of her mabari whining at the door. “Didn’t you go before…” she trailed off, abruptly realizing that the sound of fighting was real, not part of whatever dream she’d woken from. “Who’s out there, Finn?” He barked, then growled at the door. Ava rolled out of bed and pulled on the first clothes that came to hand. _Boots, where are my boots…_ The door to her room flew open, and the housekeeper’s son stumbled in, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder.

“My lady! The castle is under at--” the head of an arrow sprouted from his throat, and he collapsed in the doorway. Ava gave up on the boots and grabbed a pair of daggers from her bedside. Finn leaped out the door, latching onto the throat of the archer, a soldier Ava didn’t recognize. She made short work of the other two men. It seemed they weren’t expecting any resistance. As she knelt by one of the men, wiping his blood from her blade with his tunic, her mother’s door opened. Eleanor was fully dressed and armed. 

“Ava, darling, are you all right? I heard fighting.”

“I’m fine, Mother, Finn warned me.” She turned the dead man over and stared at the insignia on his surcoat.

“Amaranthine’s colors… Howe’s men?” Eleanor sounded dazed. “Have you seen your father? He didn’t come to bed…” 

“No, not since I said goodnight to you. We have to find him.” Ava’s head snapped up suddenly, her gaze drawn to the door to her brother’s quarters. A sick feeling was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. “Oriana…” she began. All the color drained from Eleanor’s face. They dashed for the door, only to stop short at the threshold. Ava dropped to her knees next to her nephew’s body, her mother’s pained wail only distantly heard. 

“What sort of man slaughters innocents? All these years, we called him _family_ .” There were tears on Eleanor’s face, but steel in her voice. “Howe _will_ pay for his treachery.”

“We have to go, Mother.” Ava stood, the knees of her trousers stained with her nephew’s blood, and went back to her room to retrieve her armor and boots. Grief and rage both would have to wait. There had been no more than 30 men left behind when her brother took Highever’s men to Ostagar, and if Howe’s forces were already inside the castle, most of them were likely dead.   
If her father yet lived, he’d probably be at the gates, so that was where they went, following the sounds of fighting. The blade her mother insisted she take from the armory had been in the family since before Calenhad united Ferelden, and though it hadn’t been used in battle since then, it still held an edge sharp enough to cleave a man’s head from his shoulders. And so she did. They cut a path to the main gate, where they found Ser Gilmore...but not the Teyrn. Only a half-dozen of the castle guard remained, but those few were determined to hold the gate. 

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes, my lady. He was with the Warden, they went to the entrance to the tunnel. They were looking for you. My lady, your father...he was badly wounded.” 

“Barricade the gate and come with us,” Ava ordered, though she knew what his answer would be.

“No, my lady. I am charged with holding this position, and that is what I will do. We’ll buy you the time you need to get out.” 

“Shaun…” he put a hand on her shoulder, forestalling her protest. She’d known him her whole life, they’d grown up together. But he only smiled, pressed his forehead to hers, and pushed her gently away, toward the door that led to the kitchens. 

“Maker watch over you,” he murmured, and turned back to the gates.

The tunnel had been there for ages, most likely built as an escape in case of sieges, though Ava knew it had been used as a way for mischievous Cousland children to slip away from the castle without their parents knowing. Not that she had ever indulged, obviously. Bryce was there, as Gilmore had said he’d be, grievously wounded and pale from blood loss. 

“Oh, Bryce…” Eleanor knelt next to her husband, examining the wound in his side. 

“Ah, my love. I hoped to find you here.” He tried to smile, but there was blood in his teeth and Ava could see the effort it was taking him just to stay conscious. 

“Father, we have to go.”

“I’ll not survive the standing, I think. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

“Don’t. I’ll carry you.” _Don’t leave me._

“Oh, my brave girl, of that I have no doubt. But I’m afraid you’d have to leave too much of me behind. Go on without me, both of you. Ah, Grey Warden.”

Duncan appeared at Ava’s shoulder. “Teyrn Cousland. We are running out of time. The gate is breached, the castle is being overrun.”

“Leave me. Duncan, take my wife and daughter to safety. Get them to the king at Ostagar.”

“We can’t just leave you here,” Eleanor protested. 

“You can and you will. Someone must warn the king, warn Fergus.”

“I will see them safely there, you have my word. But,” he added, now looking both deeply uncomfortable and yet resolute, “There is something I must ask in return. I came to Highever seeking recruits, and the Blight demands that I leave with one.”

Bryce and Eleanor both looked from Duncan to Ava. “No,” said Eleanor, at the same time as Bryce said “Very well.”

“Father?”

He fixed her with that gaze of his, the one that meant he was about to tell her something she would not be able to argue with or contradict. “We are Couslands, child. We do not shy away from duty.” 

“Go,” Eleanor said softly. There were tears on her face again, but her voice did not shake. “Go with Duncan, my darling, find your brother. I’ll cover you as long as I can.”

“Eleanor, my love, please--”

“Don’t argue, Bryce, I’m not leaving you here alone.” 

Ava looked from one parent to the other, tears welling in her eyes. She choked back another protest, _don't do this, don't make me go_ , and simply said "I love you." 

"Then, _live,_ darling." 

Her father took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I will see you again." 

_In this life, or at the Maker's side._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we reach Ostagar, and a great deal of in-game dialogue ensues.

It was ten days ride to Ostagar, not including the extra three it had taken to get out of Highever while evading Howe’s men, and Ava was silent for most of it. Duncan mostly kept his distance, aware that she was angry and grieving and that the terms of her recruitment would be a sore point. He hated that it had to happen the way it did. Between Blights, when things were less dire, the Wardens could afford to recruit from the willing. Their heroic, if secretive, reputation meant there was always someone willing to join up and try their hand at it, whether in search of purpose or redemption or something else. But now...He could hear it even now, the Archdemon’s song, just at the edges of his awareness. They had run out of time for recruiting gently. He’d hoped to get their numbers in Ferelden built up more before this happened, but here they were. He knew Ava would feel he’d taken advantage of the situation, and he could only hope that once she passed the Joining-- _if_ she passed the Joining--she would be able to understand the urgency of the situation. 

Thirteen days is a long time to pass in total silence.

Duncan tried, on the fifth day, to ask her about her combat training and experience, and had been met with a blank stare. The mabari had growled at him, his expression not hostile, but warning. “Perhaps another time,” he’d said, and had not tried again. The following morning, they had been attacked by bandits. Seven of them, emboldened by the passage of the army, which had taken most armed and able men from the area. It was as good an opportunity as he was going to get to see her true capabilities, and she did not disappoint. He imagined the two of them looked like easy prey to the bandits, two lightly armed people on tired horses. Anywhere else his armor would have likely given bandits cause to reconsider, but the Wardens’ reputation in Ferelden had faded somewhat in the years they’d spent banished from it’s borders. This, of course, was the source of his current headache: the Wardens, banished from the nation decades ago for an abuse of power committed by a woman who should never have been permitted to Join in the first place, had so few numbers in Ferelden now that they had been allowed back that they were reduced to conscripting by force. And to make matters worse, Loghain had categorically refused to allow a call for aid to be sent to the next closest chapter of their order, in Orlais. Starry-eyed as King Cailan was about the Wardens, when Loghain put his foot down he had not argued. The boy was hemmed in by strong willed MacTirs, Duncan reflected as he ran a bandit through with his own blade. Ferelden would suffer for Bryce Cousland’s loss, though none so much as his daughter. Duncan watched her face as much as her fighting, and worried. She cut her way through the bandits as if they weren’t there, but her expression never changed: just as blank and unyielding as it had been when he tried to talk to her. She was too precise, too disciplined for her systematic dismantling of her foes to have been fueled by rage. Her pain and anger were locked away inside her, and it would be only a matter of time before she couldn’t bottle it up anymore. Still, there was no denying she was an effective combatant. They made short work of the bandits. She still wasn’t talking to him, but he kept up a pretty steady stream of chatter after that. The silence wasn’t doing either of them any good, and while he didn’t press her to talk back to him, he could tell she was listening, so he talked. Talked about the Grey Wardens, about Blights past, about the other recruits she’d be meeting. About traveling Thedas, about the different kinds of darkspawn they could expect to encounter, about the pros and cons of sea travel and the difficulties in finding horses that didn’t spook at darkspawn. She never interrupted, never asked questions, hardly looked at him --but he could see that she was listening, and that when he occasionally cut himself off before getting into something she shouldn’t hear before the Joining, she noticed. And so the journey went, until finally they reached Ostagar. 

* * *

King Cailan met them at the gates. 

“Ho there, Duncan!”

“King Cailan? I didn’t expect--”

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!” Cailan was a cheerful young man of twenty-five who resembled his late father more with every passing year. 

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty,” Duncan answered, shaking his head. 

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious! The other Wardens told me you’ve found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?” He nodded toward Ava. 

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.”

“No need, Duncan. You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not? I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.” 

For a moment, Duncan was worried she would just continue staring in silence, as she had done the past two weeks, but then she answered, her voice clear and quiet. “Yes, your Majesty. My name is Ava. You attended my brother’s wedding some years ago.” She’d been ten, Cailan had been eighteen: they _had_ been formally introduced, but she wouldn’t have expected him to remember. 

“Yes, of course! My apologies. Your brother has arrived with Highever’s men, but we are still awaiting your father.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll be waiting for some time yet,” she answered. Duncan winced. 

Cailan didn’t look offended, however, merely confused. “Oh? Has something happened? Bryce is well, I hope.”

“Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished,” Duncan explained, heading off what would likely have been a less diplomatic answer from his recruit. 

The confusion on Cailan’s face turned to disbelief, and then to sorrow. “I...can scarcely believe it. How could he think he would get away with such treachery?” He turned to face Ava again, his expression painfully sincere. “As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice, you have my word. He will hang for this… I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this… No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds.”

She looked away. “I am not eager to tell him, your Majesty.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. You will see him again once the battle is over, of that I am certain. I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Now, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.” Ava tried and failed to conceal a worried twitch of the eyebrow at the king’s flippant attitude. Fortunately Cailan had already turned away. 

“Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Recliffe’s forces could be here in less than a week,” Duncan said. Cailan waved him off. 

“Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

“You sound very confident of that.” Ava noted quietly. Cailan glanced back at her and winked, cheerful as ever. 

“Overconfident, some would say. Right Duncan?” he laughed. Duncan didn’t seem to find it as amusing as he did, Ava thought. 

“Your majesty, I’m not certain the Blight can be ended quite as...quickly as you might wish,” Duncan said, his tone suggesting this was not a new discussion. Cailan seemed not to hear him. 

“I’m not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.” 

“Disappointed, your Majesty?”

“I’d hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do. I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!” Cailan left, his entourage in tow. Ava had read the tales he referred to. They tended to end with a lot of heroic sacrifices, if she recalled. 

“What the king said is true. They’ve won several battles against the darkspawn here.” Duncan told her. 

“He didn’t seem to take the darkspawn very seriously.” 

“True.” He gestured for her to follow, and they started across the bridge. “Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I _know_ there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

“Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly.”

“Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed to the Joining ritual without delay.”

“A hot meal might be nice, first.”

Duncan laughed, half out of surprise. Her silence had begun to worry him, but if she was able to joke there was hope for her yet. Cailan’s promise of justice seemed to have done her some good. “I agree! We have until nightfall to begin the ritual. Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon.”

“Why is this ritual so secret?”

“The Joining is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary.”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. All I ask is that you not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready to begin, find him and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits. The Grey Warden tent is on the other side of this bridge. You will find me there, should you need to.” Ava nodded, and wandered off to find the mess tent. 

* * *

Having found something to feed Finn, and eaten her own first real meal in several days, Ava set about the task of tracking down this Alistair person Duncan had mentioned. There wasn’t much to explore about an army encampment, certainly not much she hadn’t seen before, although she did briefly chat with the hound master, who was fretting about the darkspawn taint infecting one of his hounds. He had been suitably impressed with Finn, and had extracted a promise from her to be on the lookout for a certain flower, which he hoped would help cure the sick hound in his care. He hadn’t seen Alistair though. She spotted a friendly looking older woman leaned up against a tree who appeared to be people watching, and approached her in hopes she’d seen the man. 

“Greetings, young lady. You are Duncan’s newest recruit, are you not? He’s not a man easily impressed. You should be proud. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wynne, one of the mages summoned by the king.”

“I’m Ava. Pleased to meet you.”

“Well met, and good luck to you on the battlefield. To us all, in fact.”

“Will you be fighting alongside the king?”

“Not precisely. The Grey Wardens will be on the frontline, not the mages. Still, we have our parts to play. To defeat the darkspawn, we have to work together. It’s not an idea everyone seems able to grasp.”

“You’ve faced darkspawn before?” Ava had heard of the occasional darkspawn raiding party in the teyrnir, usually in places with deep caves or old entrances to the Deep Roads, like on the Storm Coast. She’d never seen one in person, however.

“Stragglers, yes -- not the vast horde the scouts speak of. I wonder...How much do you know of the connection between the darkspawn and the Fade?”

It seemed an odd question, given they’d been talking about darkspawn, but she answered it anyway. “I know the Fade is where you go when you dream; where magic and spirits come from. Demons, too.”

“Well done. Any time your spirit leaves your earthly body, whether it’s to dream or to die, it passes into the realm we call the Fade. It’s home to many spirits, some benevolent, some far less so. At the heart of the Fade lies the Black City.”

“The Black City?” It definitely rang a bell, but she couldn’t quite place it. Something to do with the Chantry, she thought. 

“Some say the Black City was once the seat of the Maker. But when mages from the Tevinter Imperium found a way into the city, it was tainted with their sin. That taint transformed those men, turning them into twisted reflections of their own hearts. And the Maker cast them back to the earth, where they became the first darkspawn. At least, that’s what the Chant of Light says.”

Long hours of lessons with the revered mother at Highever surfaced in Ava’s mind. “Oh, I know this one. ‘ _And So is the Golden City blackened; With each step you take in my Hall. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven; And doom upon all the world,_ ’” she quoted. 

“Indeed. It may be allegory, meant to teach us that our own evil causes human suffering. Or it may be true. It is as good an explanation as any, for now.”

“I think I’ll just kill any darkspawn I see,” Ava said slowly, hoping to turn the conversation away from further descent into theology. It had never been her best subject, she’d been a constant source of frustration to the chantry sister entrusted with her spiritual education. 

“A wise course of action. But I’m certain Duncan has more for you to do than talk to me.”

“Right, about that. I was wondering if you’d seen a Grey Warden called Alistair? Duncan asked me to find him.”

“Oh, of course, dear. Just take a right up there, and head up the ramp past the quartermaster. He went that way a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Alistair had a great deal of respect for Duncan and his orders, he really did. But just now he was questioning every decision in his life that had led to where he was now: specifically, being yelled at by an extremely grumpy mage. At least there’d been no lightning. Yet. 

“Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?” the mage shouted, as if this was somehow the Wardens fault. 

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.” _not my fault, not my fault._

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens -- by the king’s orders, I might add!”

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” _Maker, that’s not going to help. Couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut this once._

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“Ye-es… _I_ was harassing _you_ by delivering a message,” Alistair snapped back. 

The mage’s eyes narrowed.“Your glibness does you no credit,” he sneered. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair noticed a woman approaching. _Aha, a witness._ Surely he would not be turned into a frog if there were witnesses. Unless they both got turned into frogs. 

“Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you… the _grumpy_ one.”

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!” The mage threw up his hands in disgust and stormed off in the direction of the revered mother’s tent. 

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

She stared at him for a long moment, long enough to make him worry about what he’d said, then laughed. Just a breathless little huff at first, that broke out into full-fledged giggles. He grinned, and waited for her to compose herself. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t…” she trailed off and shrugged, still smiling. 

“Oh, never mind me. Just trying to find a bright side, you know. Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage,” he added as an afterthought.

“Why, would that make your day worse?”

“No, I just like to know what are my chances of being turned into a frog at any given time,” he told her. She smiled again. Maker, she had to stop doing that, it was going to his head. 

“You’re safe from me, anyway. Not a mage. My name is Ava, and no, we have not met. You must be Alistair.”

“Ah, of course, Duncan’s newest recruit. Glad to meet you. As the junior member of the Order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.” He turned serious as his mind turned to the ritual, and she noticed.

“Oh, good. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what all the fuss is about.”

“Uh, no. Sorry. It’s a, um...well--”  
“Secret, yes. Couldn’t hurt to ask. Anyhow, what, can you tell me?”

“Well…” he had to think about it. There were a number of things he knew for certain she wasn’t to know about before the ritual, but beyond that he couldn’t be sure what Duncan had seen fit to tell her already. He decided to start with something easy. “So, I’m curious: have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”

“No, not a live one, anyway. They’ve got a dead one over that way, one of the sergeants was giving a lecture.”

Alistair nodded, he knew the one. “When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was. I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering more, but that’s Blights for you. Anyhow, whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.” He took a step toward the ramp that led back down to the main camp, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“That argument I saw, what was it about?”

“With the mage? The Circle is here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just _love_ letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position, you see. I was once a Templar.” 

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Ah. That _would_ be awkward.”

“I’m sure the revered mother meant it as an insult --sending me as her messenger-- and the mage picked _right_ up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along. Apparently they didn’t get the same speech.” He shrugged and took another step toward the camp, and this time she followed. 

“I look forward to traveling with you.”

“You do? Huh. That’s a switch. If you have any questions, let me know. Otherwise, lead on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will make no apologies for the in game dialogue, except to say that there will mostly be less of it, in future.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> into the woods to kill some darkspawn, to gather some blood, to meet a witch...into the woooooods

There were two other Warden recruits somewhere around that needed to be collected before returning to Duncan to begin whatever ritual the Joining was. Alistair, as they searched, kept a steady stream of chatter going; telling her about how they’d been recruited, and by whom, giving Duncan’s opinion of the men and of the fact that there were so few of them. 

“... And then of course it's a bit difficult recruiting in Ferelden, since the order was banished, though I'm not sure what that was about... Duncan tells me it's a story for another time, anyway."

"Mad Lady Dryden, and the battle over succession to the throne during the Storm Age," Ava said, slowly. It's part ghost story, part Fereldan history, the sort of story one learns as a child. "It's not a secret, or anything," she added. 

Alistair gave a rather sheepish shrug. "I must confess to the possibility of a few gaps in my education," he said, and she instantly felt ashamed of her tone.

"Lady Dryden was saved from the noose by a Warden who didn't want to see a sword arm like hers go to waste," she said. "She had been sentenced to die by the king for treason, so they say, though her claim to the throne may truly have been stronger than his. King Arland was mad, and a despot, but he was still the king. Treason or not, the Wardens took her, but she never forgot the insult. How she rose to the rank of Warden-Commander, history doesn't say, for the Wardens keep their secrets close, but rise she did, and when she had the Wardens all at her call, she used that force to attempt a coup against the tyrant king. Whatever she intended to do with the throne after removing him from it, she failed, and the Wardens were banned from Ferelden for more than 200 years, until King Maric reversed the edict some thirty years ago." She fiddled a moment with the edge of her cloak. "I grew up in Highever, not terribly far from Soldier's Peak. No one can reach the keep anymore, so it's acquired something of a ghost legend locally. I didn't... It was not my intention to offend," she added. Alistair gave her an odd look, like the apology had been made in Rivaini or something.

"Uh, no, of course not, I'm -- I’m not, uh, not offended," he stammered. "Anyway, now I know! And we'll have to ask Duncan how she became Warden-Commander, maybe he knows. She must have been a terribly impressive swordswoman." 

* * *

They find one of the recruits hovering at the edge of a group of soldiers listening to a sermon given by a chantry sister. 

“ _O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Seat me by Your side in death._

_Make me one within Your glory._

_And let the world once more see Your favor._

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_

_And comfort is only Yours to give_ ,” she finished, and the knight stepped away to join them. 

“Here we are. Ava, Ser Jory. Ser Jory, Ava, the last recruit.” He looked familiar. Alistair had mentioned he was from Highever, but he wasn’t any of her father’s men, nor was he wearing Highever’s colors. He didn’t appear to have recognized her, either, which was a relief. She hadn’t told Alistair who she was, and it seemed Duncan hadn’t either. She’d just as soon keep it to herself as long as possible, though with the king having called the banners she was bound to run into someone who knew her father eventually. 

“Well met,” Ser Jory said seriously, but made no further effort at conversation as he fell into step with them. Alistair resumed his running commentary on the situation as they continued to look for the other recruit, and Ava was beginning to get the sense that he found the silence awkward, or perhaps that it was nerves about the upcoming battle expressing themselves. The other recruit (Daveth, Alistair had said, recruited from Denerim) turned out to already have found his way to Duncan, so whatever the Joining entailed, there was no more putting it off. 

“Ah, good, I see you’ve found each other. Now that we are all here, we can begin. If, that is, Alistair, you’re quite finished riling the mages,” Duncan added sharply. 

Alistair shrugged. “What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.”

Duncan just hummed back at him, feigning disapproval, but he couldn’t quite hide the amusement in his eyes. 

“Are you going to tell us what this is all about now?”

“You're to go into the wilds and bring back a vial of darkspawn blood each.” 

“Another test?” one of the other recruits protested. The knight, Jory. She finally remembered where she’d seen him before. “Have I not proven myself?” He’d fought in the tournament on her father’s nameday a few months before. He hadn’t won, so she wondered how it was he’d found himself here. 

Duncan seemed unperturbed by the question, arrogant as it sounded. “It is a vital part of the Joining. I will not say more. Alistair, there is something else. A chest in an ancient tower, containing certain documents that we must retrieve. Ancient treaties, compelling the assistance of a number of organizations. I will mark the location on your map; please retrieve them before you return. 

“Understood.”

Ava leaned around Alistair’s shoulder to get a look at the map on the table. It extended further into the Korcarri Wilds than most maps she’d seen, but not by very much. 

_I wonder how the darkspawn get on in the cold_. 

“Not especially well, as far as we can tell,” Duncan said, half-smiling. She hadn’t realized she had voiced the question aloud and blushed faintly, backing out of Alistair’s space. 

“Do you know why?” Since she’d opened the topic, might as well ask, after all. 

“Only theories, I am afraid. And those will have to wait until we are less pressed for time.”

“Oh, right. Off we go into the Wilds, then.”

* * *

Ava was beginning to wonder if she would spend the rest of her life listening to Jory -- excuse me, _Ser_ Jory -- complain about the cold. And the darkspawn. And the rain. The brief respite provided by some wolves attacking the group only served to add another thing for him to complain about once they had dealt with the pack. She liked Daveth, though. A thief, apparently, though evidently not a great one: he’d been caught in the capitol, and a passing Grey Warden had saved him from losing a hand, at the low price of pledging his life to their cause. When she asked if he thought it a worthy trade, he shrugged. “It’s a good cause, isn’t it? Saving the world from darkspawn. Perhaps a little redemption for my trouble.” 

He might have said more, but it was about then that they entered a clearing that had clearly been the site of a skirmish. Eight dead men, and about twice that many darkspawn. It looked to be most, if not all, of a scouting party -- in Highever’s colors. The color drained from Ava’s face as she scanned the bodies on the field. Fergus wasn’t there, and she felt a terrible guilt for the relief that washed over her. She knew some of these men’s faces, though there were none here she had known well. One of the bodies groaned. 

“A survivor,” Daveth said in surprise. 

Ava was already kneeling in the mud beside the man, yanking the cork out of a healing potion with her teeth. Alistair dropped down beside her, digging through his pack for bandages to cover the gash in his side that stretched from his sternum to his hip. 

“My lady,” the man said weakly, recognition flitting across the pained lines of his face. Hollen, his name was. An archer, whose father owned an orchard outside Highever. A widower, with a daughter about two years of age, she remembered, and sent up a silent prayer for the safety of the child, and the life of the father. 

She tipped the little potion bottle into his mouth, holding his head up with her other hand. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed. Outnumbered. There were too many of them… we never saw them coming.”  
“Where’s your commander,” she asked. _Where is Fergus?_ “He’s not among the fallen here.”

“He split us up,” the man told her, breathing easier as the potion took effect. “Ser Marley led my group, and his Lordship led the other.”

“Can you walk?” Alistair asked as he finished binding the wound.

“Aye, long enough to get back to the camp, at least.” 

“Good. The way back is clear, for the time being. Go find a proper healer.” It’s an order, given with an air of command she hadn’t expected of Alistair, and the wounded man sketches a salute. 

“Yessir. My thanks, Warden.” Ava wanted to go back with him, make sure he made it to the healer’s tent, wanted to track the other group of scouts and find her brother. But there were darkspawn to kill and treaties to find and a ritual to conduct, and a Cousland always does her duty. 

“Should we not turn back?” Ser Jory asked, terror bleeding into his words. Ser Jory was not a Cousland. “Those… things… wiped out an entire squad of men! We’re outnumbered! We should turn back.” 

Alistair’s gauntlet clamped down on the knight’s shoulder as he turned, pinning him in place. “No. We’ve been given a task to complete, and we will. I understand how you feel, but you should know we are in no danger of being ambushed by darkspawn.”

“How can you know that? I am no coward, but--”  
“Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. I assure you, they will not sneak up on us.” Jory continued to sputter, but they moved forward, deeper into the woods, which soon gave way to swamp. Very chilly swamp. 

* * *

Darkspawn are horrible. In theory, Ava knew this. It was historical fact: the Blight corrupted and killed everything in its path, leaving nothing but devastation and barren wasteland in its wake. Darkspawn, following the hivemind directed by the Archdemon, carried the corruption from city to city, nation to nation, merciless and cruel. And they ate people. Allegedly. Encountering them in person reinforced this historical fact in the most brutal fashion: darkspawn did, in fact, eat people. Mostly though, they inflicted violence and destruction for their own sake. They had long since gathered the three mandated vials of blood, but the tower Duncan had mentioned was still nowhere in sight. They were beginning to wonder if the tower was even still there, since it had been 4 ages since the last Blight and 2 since the Wardens had any real presence in Ferelden, when Daveth spotted a crumbling ruin at the top of the next rise. And there was a chest inside, as Duncan had said… but it was shattered and empty, and had clearly been so for a long time.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” A woman, tall and dark-haired and not dressed nearly warmly enough for the weather appeared on the crumbling stone steps above them, though where she had come from Ava could not tell. It wasn’t as if there was anywhere to hide. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?” the woman prompted, and Ava realized the four of them had just been staring in silence since she appeared. 

“Neither. The Grey Wardens held this tower once, and left something behind. We have need of it now.”

“I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go, I wondered. Why are they here? And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that, I wonder? What could you need from this ruin?”

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair said warily, having recovered enough from the woman’s surprise appearance to be suspicious. “She looks Chasind, and that means there will be others nearby.” He seemed to be expecting an ambush, though if there was one forthcoming, this was an odd way for it to start.

“Ooh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” She mocked, wiggling her fingers at him.

“Ye-es, swooping is bad.” Alistair narrowed his eyes at her. 

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She’ll turn us into toads!” Ava hadn’t expected that kind of superstition from Daveth. But the woman did carry a staff, and was likely a mage, and fear of magic ran deep, but she rolled her eyes all the same. The stranger caught her doing it, and grinned.

“Witch of the Wilds, hmm? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there, women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be _civilized_ ,” she added, with such a scornful turn on the last word that Ava couldn’t help her answering smile. 

“My name is Ava Rowena Elissa Cousland,” she said, bowing slightly and ignoring a slightly strangled gasp from somewhere behind her. “Well met…?”

“My, but that is a proper civil greeting. You may call me Morrigan. Well met indeed. But I must tell you, that which you seek is here no longer, for--”

“Here no longer? Because you stole them? You’re some kind of-- of-- sneaky witch thief!” Ava turned back to raise an eyebrow at Alistair. 

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. “Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.” He seemed to have got his temper under control again, at least, though for the life of her Ava couldn’t understand why he’d reacted like that. 

“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened,” Morrigan snapped, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. 

Ava waved a hand at Alistair to forestall the impending argument, and turned back to Morrigan. “If you do not have them, do you know who does?”

“My mother, in fact.”

“Will you take us to her?”

“There is a sensible request. I like you.”

“I’d be careful. First it’s ‘I like you,’ but then ‘Zap!’ frog time.” Belatedly, Ava recalled that Alistair had mentioned being trained as a Templar before joining the Wardens, which probably accounted for his suspicion. 

“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch,” Daveth said, eyes narrowed. 

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest, it’d be a nice change.” Now, Ava rather hated to agree with Jory, but he was at least not being rude, so she resolved to try harder to keep an open mind about him. 

“Follow me then, if you wish. I will take you to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in the process of writing this i managed to get very attached to the soldier you patch up in the wilds  
> so he's a named oc now  
> and may feature in a later chapter, who knows. The important thing is: he lives through the battle of ostagar and gets to go home and see his daughter again, i promise. i'm not a monster, jesus.


	4. Chapter 4

“Manners will get you nearly everywhere, and you’ve a sharp knife for everything else.” Her mother had told her that, once. Ava was beginning to feel the need for the sharp knife. Morrigan had indeed brought them to her mother… who was, to all appearances, stark raving mad. She had very little experience with mad mages, and this one was making her nervous. 

“Greetings, mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens, who--”

“I see them, girl. Mhm. Much as I expected.”

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“You are required to do nothing, least of all _believe_. Shut one’s eyes tight, or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.” Mad, but with method, perhaps. 

“She’s a witch, I tell you! We shouldn’t be--” Ava elbowed Daveth in the ribs. 

“Hush, Daveth,” Jory muttered, from her other side. “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

“There is a smart lad.” Witch or not, the old woman’s hearing was still sharp. “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.” Ava didn’t really have time to process that odd statement before the old woman turned her unsettling yellow gaze on her. 

“What about you, girl? Do you possess a different perspective? Or do you believe as these boys do?”

“What I _believe_ has little to do with what _is_ , madam.” 

The witch chuckled. “As good an answer as any, and possessing more wisdom than it implies. Hmm… So much about you is uncertain… and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!” She seemed to be rambling now, her gaze distant, focused somewhere past Ava’s shoulder. 

“So… this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” The woman’s seeming madness must have gotten Alistair past his earlier suspicion, if he was comfortable enough to poke fun at Daveth. 

“Witch of the wilds, hmmm?” The old woman actually cackled. Of course she did. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moonlight!”

Morrigan’s jaw clenched as she took a deep breath, then said, with an air of _great_ restraint, “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother.”

“True, they came for their treaties, yes?” She produced a rather worn leather case from...somewhere. “And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these,” she added, with a rather pointed look at Alistair, who flinched.

“You -- oh. Thank you. Madam.”

“Yes, you’re welcome, child. Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”

“What do you mean?” Ava probably should not have expected a straight answer, but she asked the question even so. The warning had an odd air to it...prophetic, almost.

“Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!” Of course. The witch cackled again. “Oh, do not mind me, you have what you came for!”

“Time for you to go, then,” Morrigan said hastily. Ava couldn’t help but agree. They politely bid her mother farewell, and Morrigan returned them to where she’d found them to make their way back to the camp. 

“So…” Alistair began, and when she turned he wasn’t looking at her, but up at the sky, so she had a pretty good guess as to where this conversation was headed.

“Yes?”

“Back there, when you introduced yourself to Morrigan…” he trailed off again, eyes still fixed anywhere but on her.

“Do go on, Alistair.” She could feel Jory and Daveth’s eyes on the back of her neck. 

“You, uh, said you were a Cousland. Any relation to, uh, the Teyrn of Highever, then?”

She could feel the sting of tears at the corner of her eye, and pushed the feeling away. “Did Duncan not tell you?”

“He wrote to say he meant to get one last recruit in Highever, and that he would join us here after.” Alistair shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve hardly had a chance to speak with him since you arrived.”

“Yes, Bryce Cousland… was… my father.” Now she was the one studiously not making eye contact, but at the edge of her vision she caught how Alistair’s head snapped toward her at the use of the past tense. She didn’t acknowledge it, and he, to his credit, did not push. 

“You knew that man, then, the wounded soldier we found.”

“I did. Not well, but he was one of the men who accompanied my brother to Ostagar.”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” She glanced over at him, but couldn’t tell if he meant the man they’d saved, or her brother. It didn’t matter. They were nearly back to the camp, and there was still the mysterious Joining to worry about, and the Blight to stop. 

* * *

Duncan was where they’d left him, standing by the fire talking to Ava’s dog. Finn seemed to like the man, which made Ava feel a little better about the whole Grey Warden thing. Purebred mabari had impeccable taste in character. 

“Ah, so you return. Have you been successful?”

“We have,” Alistair said. 

“Good. I’ve had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you’ve retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately.”

“Now will you tell us what the Joining is, exactly?” Ava was getting tired of being kept in the dark. She had known the Grey Wardens had a reputation for being secretive, but this seemed excessive, even so. 

“I will not lie, we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now, rather than later.” Ava narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Cryptic _and_ ominous, and you did not answer the question. Are you saying this ritual could kill us?”

Duncan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive.”

“Let’s go, then,” Daveth said. “I find myself anxious to see this Joining now.”

“Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple.” Duncan left them, presumably to get whatever he’d had the mages preparing, and Alistair nodded at the three of them to follow him. 

“The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” Jory muttered under his breath. 

“Are you blubbering again?” Daveth’s flippant, cheerful facade had finally slipped. Either the mystery surrounding the ritual was getting to him too, or he was just tired of Jory’s whining. Possibly both. Ava couldn’t fault him either way, she felt the same. 

“Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it’s tradition. Maybe they’re just trying to annoy you.”

“Maybe you two could quit sniping at each other and we can just get on with it,” Ava snapped. 

“I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me...It just doesn’t seem fair.”  
“Would you have come if they’d warned you? Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?” Daveth was right, of course. The Wardens had essentially carte blanche with the Chantry, the Circles, and the governments of Ferelden to do whatever they deemed necessary in pursuit of their goal. 

“Including sacrificing us?”

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight,” Daveth said sharply, and Jory had the grace to look chastised. “You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Would you die to protect your pretty wife from them?”

“I…”

“Maybe you’ll die. Maybe we’ll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn, we’ll die for sure.”

“At last, we come to the Joining.” Duncan, bless him, interrupted before Jory and Daveth could argue any further. Alistair had been oddly quiet throughout, but now he moved to stand just behind Duncan, a pensive look on his face. 

“The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation,” Duncan continued, in a somber tone that spoke to ritual rather than history lesson. “So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their corruption.”

Ava flinched, and felt Daveth do the same beside her. 

“We’re going to… _drink_ the _blood_ of those… creatures?” It wouldn’t be fair to say Jory squeaked. He was a knight, after all. Not fair, but also not inaccurate. 

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and victory.” _This_ was definitely some sort of blood magic, and Ava couldn’t help her sidelong glance at Alistair, the former Templar. He didn’t meet her eye, still focusing on Duncan with that odd look of apprehension. He expected someone to die, she realized. 

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint,” he said quietly. “We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.”

“Those who survive.” She wondered what the odds were, how many people usually died. 

“Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed. That is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.” Duncan took a deep breath before continuing. “We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair looked down at his feet and began to recite. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day, we shall join you.”

“In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Daveth, step forward.” Duncan held a silver chalice out to him. He took it and drank without hesitation. Ava realized she was holding her breath. He handed the cup back to Duncan and for a moment it seemed like everything was fine… until he doubled over and began to convulse. His eyes glazed over and he cried out before collapsing, clutching his throat. Grief washed over Duncan’s features as he watched. “I am sorry, Daveth,” he said quietly, and then Daveth went still, dead on the ground. She heard Jory swear quietly as he backed up against the wall behind him before Duncan turned to face him. “Step forward, Jory.”

“But I… I have a wife… a child, had I known…” Jory stammered, reaching up to grasp the hilt of his sword. 

“There is no turning back,” Duncan told him sternly, and advanced toward him. Jory drew his weapon. 

“No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!”

Duncan handed the chalice to Alistair with a stony expression and drew his own blade, still advancing on the panicked knight, who took a swing that he easily parried, bringing the dagger in his other hand up and under Jory’s breastplate. “I am sorry,” he murmured as he guided the dying man to the ground. “But the Joining is not yet complete.” He took the cup back from Alistair and turned to her, blood on his hands and sadness in his voice. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good. Step forward, Ava.” 

She looked down at Daveth, grief in her eyes, and then nothing, carefully blank as she accepted the cup from Duncan with a shrug. "I'm already dead." 

It burned as she drank it, like her soul had been set on fire. She dropped to her knees, sure she was dying. But Duncan must have thought she’d live, because she distantly heard him say “From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden,” before she passed out. 

She dreamed. There was a dragon, twisted and horrible and angry. It was… speaking. Singing, almost. She could feel it as much as hear it, almost understand it, almost… like whispering on the other side of a room, near enough to hear but not enough to comprehend. 

She woke to Alistair and Duncan kneeling over her. Alistair’s face was openly relieved. Not dead, then. 

“It is finished. Welcome,” Duncan said solemnly. 

“Two deaths. In my joining, only one of us died, but it was… horrible. I’m glad one of you made it through.” Alistair offered her a hand up and she took it. She had a headache. Like the time Fergus had handed her a glass of Antivan brandy when she was ten, and she’d drank the whole thing just because he’d said she couldn’t. It had been her first, and worst, hangover, but looking back on it now that headache was a fond memory compared to this one. 

Duncan must have seen her wince as she stood. “How do you feel?”

“Hungover.”

“Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.” Duncan looked as if he had something else to say, but Alistair interrupted.

“Oh, before I forget, this is for you.” He held a little pendant on a silver chain out to her. “The last part of the Joining, sort of. We take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. SOmething to remind us of… those who didn’t make it this far.” She followed his glance to the blood staining the stones where Daveth had died. The bodies had been removed while she was unconscious. 

“Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten,” she murmured, remembering what he’d said before as she took the chain from him. 

Duncan nodded at her. “When you are ready, I would like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king.”

Ava shrugged. Odd, but not the oddest thing today. “What kind of meeting?”

“The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle. I am… not sure why he has requested your presence.” Maybe Cailan had heard from Fergus. She shrugged again, and followed Duncan.

* * *

She could hear the argument before she saw it. Whoever had set up the camp seemed to have expected just such an argument, because they were at least far enough out of the way that passing soldiers weren’t too likely to hear the King of Ferelden and the Hero of River Dane bickering like children.

“Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”

“You risk too much, Cailan. The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”  
“If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all.”

“I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!” Cailan must have known bringing up Orlais would only serve to anger the teyrn further, but he continued. 

“It is not a fool notion. Our arguments with Orlais are a thing of the past… And you will remember who is king.” Ava had to fight to keep from raising an eyebrow at that. 

“How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!”

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they? And speaking of the Wardens, here they are,” Cailan said cheerfully, as she followed Duncan to the table under the pavilion. “My lady, I understand congratulations are in order? And you remember Teyrn Loghain, I’m sure.”

“My lady,” the teyrn said gruffly, with a slight nod in her direction. She put on her ‘court smile,’ as Mother had called it, and nodded back.

“General.” 

“Good, good, now that’s out of the way…” a shadow crossed Cailan’s face and he looked back to her. “Forgive me my lady, but your brother… His party has not returned from their scouting mission. I am… terribly sorry.” 

She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry in front of them. Mourning could come later. There was still a chance Fergus was out there. “... Thank you, your majesty.” She opened her eyes and looked back again, mask falling back into place. “We found one of his men, wounded. Did he make it back, do you know?” 

“He did. He made his report before going to the healers,” Loghain said. 

“Good.” That was a relief, at least. 

Cailan’s face shifted back into his earlier focused, cheerful expression as he returned to the matter at hand: the upcoming battle. “Duncan, are your men prepared?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.” _It’s very poor manners to roll your eyes at a king_ , she reminded herself. But it was difficult to feel honored at her circumstance, given how she’d ended up here. 

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.” From his tone, Loghain was also having to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Fine.” Cailan shrugged. “Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then?” He bent over a map of the battlefield on the table, tapping a spot in the valley. Ava leaned in slightly to get a closer look. 

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover, here.” Loghain pointed at the edge of the valley opposite the cliffs. They meant to draw the horde into a bottleneck and cut them off. 

“To flank the darkspawn, I remember. This is the tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes?”

Loghain hummed an affirmative. “I have a few men stationed there. It is not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital.”

“Then we should send our best. My lady, you and Alistair will go to the tower and watch for my signal.”

“As you wish, your majesty. If it is as simple as you say, I can do it on my own,” she added. She suspected Alistair would prefer to be part of the charge with the other Wardens. 

“No,” Cailan snapped, sharply enough to make her flinch. “No, it’s best if you both go.”

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much.” Loghain was still scowling down at the map. There was a scrap of paper under his right hand that, from what she could make out upside down, appeared to be estimates of the darkspawn’s numbers. “Is that truly wise?”

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens fight the Blight, wherever they are from.” From the way Loghain scowled (a separate and distinct scowl from the way he had been looking at the map), Ava guessed ‘conspiracy theories’ about Orlesians were not what had Loghain on edge, at least not this time. 

“Your majesty, you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing.” Up to this point, Duncan had watched the argument unfold in silence, with an air that suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it all. 

“There have been no signs of a dragon in the Wilds thus far,” Loghain said.

“Isn’t that what your men are here for, Duncan?” Dismissive. Whatever point Duncan had been attempting to make, Cailan wasn’t getting it. 

“I… yes, your--”

“Your majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary! The Circle of Magi--” The mage who’d been yelling at Alistair that morning stormed up, followed closely by the revered mother, who angrily cut him off mid-sentence.

“We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage! Save them for the darkspawn.” He turned back to argue with her, but Loghain shouted over him.

“Enough! This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.” He glared at her, and turned away.

“Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment!The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!” The king of Ferelden reminded her of nothing so much as an overgrown puppy, but she could see tension in the set of the general’s shoulders as he walked away. Once upon a time her father, when asked about his time in the war, had told her and Fergus that he’d never been in a “glorious battle.”

_There’s no glory in bloodshed, child. What we did, we did for freedom, for Ferelden, for Queen Moira and for Maric after her. I do not regret what we did, for we knew it must be done, but there is no glory in the blood on my hands. My only hope is that because we bloodied ours, you will never need to bloody yours._

“Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all,” Loghain sighed, and she wondered if he’d turned away so none of them would see him roll his eyes. Wondered if the blood on his hands weighed on him like it had on her father. 

* * *

She’d been right about Alistair being disappointed at not being allowed to charge with the others. When Duncan told him he’d been assigned to light the beacon with her he was angry, but Duncan was adamant.

“This is by the king’s personal request, Alistair. If the beacon isn’t lit, the Teyrn’s men won’t know when to charge.”

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, is that right? Just in case?” 

“We do what we must to stop the darkspawn, Alistair, no matter how boring it may seem.”

Duncan frowned hard at Alistair, who raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But just so you know, if the king asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

Ava took a moment to appreciate that mental image. “Aww, truly? That’s too bad, I think I’d rather like to see that.”

“Ha bloody ha. For you, maybe.” He winked at her, and she grinned back as Duncan rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“The tower of Ishal is on the other side of the bridge, we passed by it as we arrived. From the top you’ll be able to see the entire valley. We will signal you when the time is right, Alistair knows what to look for.”

“And if the archdemon does appear?” 

“We soil our drawers, that’s what,” Alistair joked.

“Leave that to us, you stay at the tower with the Teyrn’s men. I want no heroics from either of you.” The rest of the Wardens were forming up with Cailan’s men. “I must go. The two of you are on your own for now, but you need to be in place within an hour. You are both Grey Wardens; be worthy of that title.”

They nodded solemnly. “Duncan… May the Maker watch over you.” 

“May He watch over us all.”

* * *

_I have men stationed there, he said. It won’t be dangerous, they said_. Ava shook her head. Apparently the darkspawn hadn’t got that memo, because the Tower of Ishal was overrun. According to the battlemage they’d run into outside, Loghain’s men had been caught by surprise when darkspawn began flooding up from somewhere in the lower levels. They had been wiped out, the mage was the only survivor they’d seen. She hadn’t caught his name, but he’d willingly turned and fought back through the darkspawn and into the tower with them, so she liked him. There had been dozens of darkspawn on the ground floor of the tower, but she hadn’t seen where they got in. They didn’t really have time for this, they were going to be late for Cailan’s signal… but they needed to stop, paused in the stairwell for the mage to take a lyrium potion and catch his breath. 

“What are all these darkspawn doing this far ahead of the horde? There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here,” Alistair muttered, wiping black blood from his sword. She raised an eyebrow at him; how was she to know? She’d been a Grey Warden for all of two hours.

“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” she offered. 

“Ha, very funny. Come on, we’ve got to get moving, the men in the valley are counting on us.”

Onwards and upwards, then. The numbers thinned out some as they reached the higher levels, but it was still slow going. They were going to miss the signal. Maybe they already had. Duncan said they had an hour, how long had it been?They reached the top of the tower, and for a moment it seemed blessedly empty. But then one of the piles of rubble in the shadows moved. It wasn’t rubble. It was an ogre, with the half eaten remains of one of the Teyrn’s soldiers in its massive claws. Perfect. She rolled between its legs as it charged them, swinging her sword at the tendon behind its knee, but she’d underestimated how sturdy its hide was and it kept going, snatching the battlemage up and tearing him in half before Alistair could get to him. She turned and ran at it, burying her dagger in the back of its leg. It dropped to one knee with a scream of rage that was abruptly cut off as Alistair rammed his sword through its throat. 

“We’ve surely missed the signal,” he said grimly. “The beacon is over there, come, before it’s too late.”

They lit the beacon, and turned to head back down the tower to join the battle in the valley when they felt it. 

"More coming," Ava said. 

"A lot more," Alistair added. "Too many." Cold certainty settled over the pair of Wardens, and the calm that comes with facing the inevitable. They faced the door to the stairs side by side, weapons in hand. As the wave of darkspawn approached, Ava laid a hand on Alistair's shield arm, drawing his gaze for a moment. 

"We did our duty," she said, tears streaking through the grime on her face. "We did our duty." 

  
  
  
  


There was no end to them. They couldn't cut down enough to make a difference; wave after wave pushed through the door and soon enough they were overwhelmed. The arrow in her shoulder was poisoned, she could feel the burn of it in her blood. Beside her, Alistair dropped to the floor, run through on a darkspawn's sword. His face was the last thing she saw as the world faded around her. 

_I will see you again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that time i said there would probably be less of the in game dialogue? yeah, we haven't got to that bright future yet. sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up came as something of a shock. Ava had rather expected to be dead, but she didn’t think the afterlife was supposed to hurt. She reached up to her shoulder which, last she’d checked, had a poisoned arrow through it and found nothing. No bandages, no gaping wound, just the lingering exhausted soreness characteristic of magical healing. Not even a scar leftover. On the subject of magical healing… She definitely wasn’t still in the Tower of Ishal. _Where is Alistair?_ She sat up too fast and had to grip the edge of the cot as the room spun around her and she became aware of a number of other magically healed wounds.

“Ah, so you’ve finally decided to rejoin the living.” A vaguely familiar voice. Morrigan, that was her name. Ava frowned. How did Morrigan get here?

“Where am I? And where is Alistair?” _Maker, please don’t let him be dead, not him too_.

“You are in my mother’s house. She saw you fall, and rescued you. Your friend awoke some time ago, he is outside.” Ava nearly collapsed again in relief. 

“And what of the battle? The king, the other Wardens?”

Morrigan grimaced slightly, and hesitated. “The general who was meant to respond to your signal… quit the field. None in the valley survived.” 

Ava was dizzy again. Duncan, King Cailan, the Wardens… all dead. Abandoned? By Teyrn MacTir? It seemed impossible, and yet… Nothing had gone to plan that night, why should this be such a surprise? “I need to talk to Alistair.”

“Certainly, he has been anxiously waiting for you to wake. I shall stay here, and prepare something to eat.”

Alistair was staring into the fire outside, lost expression on his face, but he looked up when she stepped out. He crossed the distance between them in two long steps and swept her into a bone-crushing hug, bleeding relief. 

“I was so worried.” She held onto him and tried not to cry into his shoulder. “They’re all gone,” he murmured into her hair, voice cracking on the last syllable, and she held on tighter.

“As touching as this is, I believe the two of you have a Blight to stop.” Morrigan’s mother. 

Alistair bit back a hysterical laugh. “Oh yes, the two of us against an archdemon, better get to it.”

The old woman’s face, however, showed no sign that she was joking. “Yes, indeed, and the darkspawn have a head start.”

“Forgive me, madam, but I don’t believe we ever got your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. You may call me Flemeth, however.”

“The Flemeth? From the stories? I thought Daveth was just being superstitious, but he was right. You’re the Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you.”

“And what if I am? I know a little magic, true, and it certainly turned out to be to your benefit. Would you rather I had left you on top of that tower to bleed to death?”

Alistair looked away. “And Duncan? Could you have saved him?” _Instead of me_ , he did not add, but Ava could see it. Flemeth’s expression softened by a fraction; she’d seen it too. 

“I am sorry about your Duncan, child. But grief must come later… In the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now. It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the land against the Blight… Or did that change while I wasn’t looking?”

Alistair bristled slightly. “Of course not. But… It’s just the two of us left now. And Ferelden is hardly united, with Cailan’s death and Teyrn MacTir’s… treachery.”

“Why would he do that?” Loghain hadn’t been happy with the plan, or with Cailan, but to abandon him on the battlefield? It seemed out of character. 

“Now that _is_ a good question,” Flemeth told her. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The archdemon,” Alistair said grimly.

“Which we still haven’t seen,” Ava pointed out. _Still…_ “What could Loghain gain from killing the king?”

“The throne? He’s Queen Anora’s father, after all. Still, I can’t see how he’ll get away with murder.”

“You speak as if he’d be the first king to gain his throne that way,” Flemeth sneered. “Grow up, lad.”

Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. It didn’t matter at the moment why Loghain had done it, the fact was that he had, and the two of them were now all that stood between Ferelden and the Blight. 

No pressure. 

“The Landsmeet wouldn’t stand for this.” Alistair shook his head. “If Arl Eamon knew… There’d be civil war.”  
“We can’t _afford_ a civil war, Alistair, there’s a Blight on. One war at a time, mate. How long would it take to get reinforcements from the Wardens in Orlais?”

“Too long.” Alistair passed a hand over his face, thinking. “Duncan wanted to send for them, but Loghain didn’t want to go to the Orlesians for help and Cailan didn’t think it was necessary. Eamon… Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan’s uncle. I know him, he’s a good man. He’ll listen to us.”

“No love lost between him and the Teyrn, anyhow.” The Arl of Redcliffe had married an Orlesian woman shortly after Maric had taken the throne, and Loghain had never quite forgiven him. 

“Right, I forgot you’d know him,” Alistair said. Ava shrugged.

“Not well, really. Will he listen to us over the Teyrn?”

“You’re a teyrn’s daughter, right? He at least won’t throw you out. But… Just his men won’t be enough to stop the Blight.”

“You have more at your disposal than you think,” Flemeth interjected. The two Wardens stared at her blankly for a long moment.

“What do you… The treaties.” A light flickered to life in Ava’s mind and she spun to look at Alistair. “The treaties!”

His eyes widened as he put his hand to the pouch still secured to his belt. “Of course! These… People have to help us, that’s how this works.”

“It sounds as though you’ve found your army.” The old witch was smiling slightly now. “You just have to go and collect them.”

“Can we do this?” Ava was a little surprised he was asking her, and frowned at him. “I mean… She’s right, it’s always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to stand against the Blight. And right now, you and I are the Grey Wardens.”

He was right, of course. _Duty_. She nodded at him. “We do what must be done, right?”

“Good, then,” Flemeth cackled. “You are ready. One last thing, before you go; one last piece of assistance I can offer you--” She broke off as Morrigan approached.

“The stew is finished, Mother. Do we have two guests for supper, or none?”

“The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them.”

“Such a sh-- _What_?” Clearly Morrigan was as shocked as they were; the betrayal in her voice left little room for doubt. 

“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears.” Flemeth was cackling again. Maker, but she really was leaning into the whole mad bog witch thing. 

“That’s not--”

“Thank you, Madam, but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to go--”

“Nonsense. Her magic will be useful. Better still, she knows the Wilds and how to navigate them to get past the horde.”

“Am I to have no say in this, Mother?”

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, dear, here is your chance. And you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.” 

Ava didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but they could not afford to turn away the help. “If Morrigan wishes to join us, we welcome the help,” she said, ignoring the dubious look she was getting from Alistair. 

“Mother, this is not how I wanted… I am not even ready…”

“You must be ready, child. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you they will surely fail, and all will fall to the Blight. Even I.”

“I… understand.” 

“And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

A moment passed and Ava realized Alistair was looking to her to answer. “... No harm will come to her with us, Madam.” 

“Good. Run and pack your things, child, you’ve a long journey ahead of you.” 

Ava sat by the fire and rubbed Finn’s ears, absently wondering how exactly Flemeth had managed to rescue two unconscious Wardens and a war dog from the top of a tower overrun with darkspawn… And knowing that if she asked she absolutely would not get a satisfactory answer. Alistair had retreated back into that lost expression, staring into the flames and fidgeting with a stone in his left hand. She didn’t know almost anything about the man, she realized, except that he’d been a Templar and he looked up to Duncan almost like a father. So, he’d lost his whole family too: something they had in common. 

Morrigan came back outside, carrying a staff and a pack and wearing a resigned expression. 

“If I may, Wardens, I would suggest a village just north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far, and you may find much you need there.”

“Seems as good a place to start as any,” Ava said. “We do need to resupply.” She tugged on Alistair’s elbow, pulling him and Finn away to the edge of the clearing to allow Morrigan and her mother to say their goodbyes in private. 

* * *

The trip out of the Wilds was longer than the trip in with Duncan. Horses wouldn’t have been able to traverse the path Morrigan took them on, but Ava knew once they were back in Ferelden proper they would miss them. And with Lothering directly in the path of the horde, she doubted they’d be able to procure any there. Alistair had grown quieter and quieter as they walked, retreating into his grief, and she knew she had done the same. Morrigan was decidedly less chatty than Duncan, so most of the journey passed in near silence. 

They were able to move faster once they reached the old Imperial highway. Faster, at least, until they reached a roadblock outside the village of Lothering. 

“This here’s a toll road,” a man in mismatched leathers gleefully informed them. Bandits. Ava was...unimpressed, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword. 

“Uhh, they don’t look like no refugees, boss. Maybe we just lets them pass.” The big one seemed to possess more sense than the leader, though that wasn’t saying much.

“No, everyone pays, Hamish. That’s why it’s a toll and not a refugee tax. Now,” he turned his attention back to them with a cheerful grin, “Hand over the money, or we’ll take it from you.” 

“You’re more than welcome to try,” Ava told him, rolling her eyes. Finn rumbled a low growl from her left side, and she heard Alistair draw his sword behind her. The bandit leader blanched, but did not back down, drawing his own weapon and signalling his men to do the same.

It was a short fight. 

The bandits didn’t have the benefit of a mage, or Alistair’s years of training, or the added strength and speed that came with the Joining. All six bandits were disposed of in short order, and as Alistair wiped the blood from his blade he spoke for the first time in days. “We should see if we can return what they took. Perhaps some of the refugees they stole from are still in Lothering.”

“Oh, look who’s decided to rejoin the living,” Morrigan mocked. Alistair shot a glare in her direction, and Ava held up a hand to forestall what was sure to be a snide comment. 

“You’re right, we should check. If there’s refugees in town, they’ll be at the chantry, most likely. We can start there.” 

“We need to resupply too, if we can,” Alistair added, but he was eyeing the small village doubtfully. It was the nearest town to Ostagar, so any survivors from that battle would likely have passed through it already, to say nothing of all the abandoned farmholds between here and the edge of the wilds. Whatever supplies the village had left, if any, they might not be willing to part with. 

A templar stopped them at the edge of town. “Ho there, travelers. If you seek refuge, there’s none to be found here. Nor can I do anything about the bandits on the kingsroad, we cannot spare the men.” 

Ava looked at Alistair, who met her gaze with a slight shrug. “We, uh, dealt with the bandits, actually. You might send someone to retrieve what they stole. We were hoping to resupply here, if there’s any supplies left, that is.”

“Taken care of…?”

“They’re dead, Knight-Lieutenant,” Alistair said shortly. 

“Thank the Maker. We’ve little in the way of supplies, the army passed through here already and were much less polite about their needs. You may speak to the Revered Mother in the chantry, and the tavern is still open, so they must have something there that they are willing to part with. Beyond that, however, I can offer you nothing.” 

Ava nodded. It was about what she had expected, in all honesty. “The darkspawn horde is not far behind. You should evacuate the village, if you can.”

“Those who can leave, already have, for the most part. You must understand, many of the people here have nowhere else to go. The arl went to Ostagar with most of his men, and has not returned. His household fled north a week ago. Lothering’s chantry has only eight Templars, and we’re all that’s left to protect these people.” They could not see the templar’s face for his helm, but his tone was grim.

“Tell them to go north, to Redcliffe, if they can. Arl Eamon won’t turn them away, and anywhere would be better than being here when the horde arrives,” Alistair told him. He clearly thought very highly of Eamon Guerrin, and again Ava wondered why that was. 

“We’ll do all we can,” the templar assured them. “Thank you again, for dealing with those bandits.”

As they neared the chantry at the center of the village, the chaos the knight-lieutenant had alluded to became clear. The chantry courtyard was filled with refugees, probably from the surrounding farmholds. More wagons than horses or oxen to draw them, many severely damaged. A harness on one, empty and sliced apart, led Ava to wonder how many of the draft animals had been stolen in the night. It was even more crowded inside the chantry. Dozens of people, mostly women and children, packed every inch of the space. The revered mother only reaffirmed what the Templar outside had said: there was little Lothering could offer in terms of supplies, and the best they could do was check at the tavern and then move on. As they were leaving, Alistair recognized one of the knights standing to one side of the chantry and broke off to speak with him. “He’s one of Arl Eamon’s men. I’ll catch up with you.” Ava nodded, and wandered off in the direction they’d been told they would find the tavern. Morrigan had refused to set foot in the chantry, mumbling darkly about templars and close-mindedness, and was now nowhere to be seen, but Finn had gone with her, so Ava was not too worried. She rounded a corner and ran directly into a wall, which reached out and caught her before she could fall. 

“Sorry,” the wall apologized. It was a man, in fact, carrying a sword as tall as she was and wearing a uniform she recognized from one of the units at Ostagar. There was another man with him, a few years older and in the same uniform, clearly his brother. 

“Here, put the lady down, Carver. My apologies-” he broke off, frowning at her own armor, damaged but still recognizable as the silver and blue of the Grey Wardens. “Uh. Apologies for my brother’s manners, Warden, we were distracted. Forgive me, but were you at Ostagar? We’d heard all the Wardens fell with the king.” The younger brother released her shoulders.

“Nearly all,” she told them, in answer to the question. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for answers about what happened in the valley, you’ll have to look elsewhere; I was not there.”

“No, we saw what happened in the valley, we _were_ there,” the younger man - _Carver_ , he’d said- told her.

“We were,” the older confirmed. “Further back than the king, near enough to the mouth of the valley to turn back when the company commander realized no one was going to answer the signal for reinforcements. Saved our lives, calling the retreat. But you say you weren’t in the valley?”

“No, we were charged with lighting the signal for the Teyrn’s men,” she said, grimly. At least Morrigan had been wrong about survivors, at least _some_ of the force in the valley had lived. Fury on the younger brother’s face, and grief on the older told her they knew they'd been betrayed, left to die by the Teyrn. 

“What will you do now?” the older brother, who’d not given a name, asked her.

“What Grey Wardens always do,” she said, with a shrug. “Fight the Blight, come what may. And you?”

“We were looking for our mother and sisters when my brother ran into you,” he said. “You were just in the chantry, yes? I don’t suppose you saw them.”

“There are a lot of people in the chantry, mostly refugees from outside the village, I think. Do they look like the two of you? I don’t recall seeing them, but I was not looking.” 

“Very much so. Just slightly shorter and more… you know… girl shaped,” he finished lamely. She grinned at him.

“Ah… no, I don’t think so. The revered mother said if we were looking for supplies, to check with the tavern, so that’s where I was going next. I shall keep an eye out for a girl-shaped you, if you like. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

“Ah, where are my manners. And here I was chastising Carver for his. Hawke, Garrett Hawke, at your service...?”

“Ava Cousland. Well met, Garrett Hawke, Carver Hawke. Good luck finding your family.” Her smile faded slightly, and she added: “The horde is not far behind you. Do not be here when they arrive.” Both men nodded seriously, and they parted ways. 

Alistair caught up to her as she reached the door of the tavern, his expression grim and distant. “What happened? What did Ser Donall say?” 

“Arl Eamon has been taken ill,” he told her. “His wife sent a number of his men out to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, so whatever ails him, it’s serious.”   
“I thought that was a myth,” Ava said.

“Exactly.”

The tavern was not nearly as crowded as the chantry, but most of the people inside were armed men. Soldiers, in fact.

“Well, now. We been askin’ around town after any Grey Wardens, and they said you wasn’t here. Seems we was lied to, boys.” 

“Is there a particular reason you were looking for Wardens here?” Ava had a bad feeling about the direction this conversation was headed. 

“As a matter of fact, yeah. Our orders was to kill the traitors what killed King Cailan.” The soldiers were drawing their swords when a young woman in Chantry robes stepped into the middle of the conversation. 

“Now, now,” she said sweetly, with a faint Orlesian accent. “I’m sure we can resolve this without resorting to violence.” The leader glared at her and raised his weapon toward Ava. “Or not,” the sister said mildly, and produced a pair of daggers from… somewhere. 

They were just men. Just following orders. Bad orders, but still. Ava wasn’t trying to kill them, but at the end of it two of the six soldiers who’d attacked were dead on the floor, and the rest were wounded. 

“Mercy,” the leader said, though his tone said he didn’t expect it, and his eyebrows shot up when Ava lowered her sword. 

“We didn’t kill the king,” she told him. “Your master abandoned him. Carry a message to Teyrn MacTir.”

“Anything.”

“We _will_ stop the Blight. And if he means to hinder us, he’ll have to do better than this.” It was probably unwise to antagonize the general, but she was angry. The soldier nodded fervently.

“I’ll tell him, miss.” And fled, taking his wounded comrades with him. Ava turned to the Chantry sister, who was quietly wiping blood from her blades. 

“Thank you, Sister. I apologize for involving you in that. And for the mess,” she added, louder and in the direction of the barkeep, who shrugged. He had gone on wiping glasses and serving drinks all through the scuffle. 

“I involved myself,” the sister said with a smile. “I could not simply stand by, after all. He said you were Grey Wardens?”

“We are.”

“And you are going to stop the Blight, yes? I wish to join you.”

“I...sorry, what?” 

“Forgive me, I should begin at the beginning. My name is Leliana. The Maker told me to help you.”

That did not clarify matters _at all_. “The...Maker. Told you to help us. Care to elaborate?” Ava was glad Morrigan hadn’t turned back up yet. She would no doubt have had something derisive to say. 

“I had a vision. I believe it meant that I am supposed to help you fight the Blight. The other sisters did not believe me, but here you are.” The fact that she was so serenely explaining that the Maker had sent her a vision, the Maker who the Chantry claimed had turned his face away a thousand years ago, who had been silent since Andraste herself, was unsettling, but… she was _very_ capable in a fight. She turned to Alistair, who raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

Ava shrugged. “It’s not as if we’ve an overabundance of allies, Alistair. Can we afford to turn away offered help just because the source is...odd?” she hissed back. Alistair looked as if he was going to argue, but then he just shook his head.

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Ava turned back to the sister. “I don’t know about divine intervention, Sister Leliana, but you’re clearly a trained fighter and we’ll not turn down help if it’s offered.”

Leliana smiled, bright as the sun. “Wonderful. I shall gather my things and let the revered mother know I am leaving Lothering.”

* * *

Morrigan met them outside the tavern, looking furious. Finn trailed after, giving no indication they’d been attacked, so whatever had Morrigan all wound up, it wasn’t that. 

“I wish to leave this place immediately,” she said, without preamble. “‘Tis most barbaric.”

“What is?” 

“They’ve a qunari, caged on the edge of town for some crime. They mean to leave him to die, by starvation or by the darkspawn when they come.”

Ava frowned. Whatever the alleged crime was, leaving a man to the darkspawn was not justice. “Show me.”

For all that he was in a very small cage, with neither armor nor shelter from the elements, the qunari Morrigan had told them of was terribly calm. His eyes were closed when they approached, and he was murmuring something in a language Ava did not recognize, but assumed must be Qunlat. She was wondering whether or not to interrupt him when he opened his eyes and gave her a pointed glare. “If you have come to gawk, you are wasting your time.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to stare. Who are you and how did you come to be in that cage?”

“I am Sten, of the Beresaad. I was placed here as punishment for my crimes.”

“And what crimes would those be?”

“Murder.” 

“Oh. And were you guilty?”

He frowned at her. “Do you mean did I commit the crimes, or do I feel guilt about it.”

“Both?”

“I did.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Taciturn fellow, this man. 

“I panicked.”

“...I see. And this seems a fitting punishment to you?” His frown deepened. 

“The chantry woman determined this to be my punishment. I have accepted this.”

It did not seem a fitting punishment to Ava. It seemed cruel and inhumane, and she was surprised that the revered mother would have passed such a sentence. “What if I could convince her to release you?” _Beresaad_ , if she remembered correctly, was part of the Qunari military. Or the name of the Qunari army. Her education on Qunari politics and culture was somewhat lacking; the Qun was generally dismissed as Tevinter’s problem. Either way, it wouldn’t be the first time the Grey Wardens had recruited a condemned murderer, and she did not mean to leave a man caged and exposed if she could help it.

“Why would you do this? I have accepted my punishment.”

“There are more useful, less cruel ways for you to atone. My name is Ava, and I am a Grey Warden. You could seek atonement by joining us against the darkspawn, if you wish.”

He gave her another piercing look, holding her gaze until she began to wonder if she’d grown a second head, then: “Very well.”

The revered mother was skeptical, but eventually relinquished the key to the cage, washing her hands of the situation. It was too late in the day to travel any further, and they hadn’t managed to acquire any supplies, so after a moment's discussion they decided to camp on the edge of town, away from the other refugees, and try again in the morning. Ava knew there were a handful of settlements between Lothering and the town of Redcliffe, and if it came down to it there was plenty of game in the woods, but it was healing supplies she was most concerned about. Morrigan had been very clear that healing was not her strength, magically, and they had limited bandages and potions available. Something to worry about in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought I'd published this chapter already, oops.


	6. Interlude: South of Lothering

Dear Fergus, 

I know you'd think me foolish, writing to you when I do not even know if you live, let alone where to send the letters. Be a dear and don't laugh too hard, brother mine.  ~~ I have to ~~ ~~ I cannot ~~ I need to believe you are out there. That I have not lost everyone. It's selfish of me, but still: I hope I do not have to be the one to tell you what happened to Highever. To our family. I hope you hear it before you read this letter.

I never really enjoyed Arl Howe’s company, but I never thought him capable of such betrayal. He had supper at our table, laughed with Father, told stories about the rebellion… and then I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming and soldiers in his colors murdering their way through our house. It will be no comfort to you to know this, but I do not think Oren suffered. 

~~ I don't know how to ~~

I've killed people. The darkspawn are bad enough, but the people… They are just men following orders, and I keep thinking there should have been a better way. I do not see their faces, though. I thought I would. Father - you know how he was, when he'd have too much wine and get maudlin - he talked about seeing their faces, the men on the other side of the rebellion. People he fought, killed. Haunted his dreams, some of them. Perhaps it is because he knew them, I don't know. The bandits I've slain don't haunt my nightmares, Fergus, nor Loghain's men, nor even Howe's. I left Mother and Father behind, they were alive when I left and now they're not and I see their faces; telling me I have to live and all I feel is guilt. Shaun, holding the gates so we could get away. Nan and Elsie and Mattis, a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. Oriana and Oren. I didn't even hear them fall, didn't know what was happening until it was too late and I am so, so sorry Fergus. I couldn't save them. It seems foolish to feel the weight of Cailan's death on my conscience too; what could I have done to save him? But I do feel it; see his face when I close my eyes. 

I don't know what I expected joining the Wardens would be like. I remember reading about them; legendary heroes, griffons, the like. Storybooks, for children.There aren’t any griffons, unless that is one of the secret things Duncan intended to tell us after the battle. He said we’d have plenty of time. I know I wasn't expecting to suddenly be one of only two Wardens standing between Ferelden and a Blight. I certainly didn't expect to somehow end up in charge. I cannot figure out why Alistair keeps looking to me to make the decisions.  _ Technically  _ he's the senior Warden in Ferelden now, even if he's only been one for six months. I've only been one for a week. He was a Templar before. Truthfully we are lucky it was him that survived and not one of the ones who joined with me. He’s an exceptional swordsman, I wouldn’t be alive without him. He’s grieving, though, and I do not know how to help him. I haven’t told him what happened at Highever yet. He’s lost his family too. I keep hoping this is all just a bad dream and I'll wake up soon, back in my own bed. I know it is real, though. And that it's no use wishing things were different. 

We are headed for Redcliffe, I think. Alistair thinks Eamon Guerrin will help us. You know, I never thought to ask how he knows the Arl, but he seems convinced we can trust him, so we will head that way after we resupply in Lothering, unless we get an idea of where the Dalish are. Last I heard there was a clan in the Brecilian forest, so if they are close enough we may go to them first, see if they will honor the treaty. 

I miss you, brother. I hope you're safe, wherever you are. 

Ava

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got my chapter order confused but I fixed it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for brief reference to sexual assault

She woke to Alistair’s hand on her shoulder, an expression of mild concern on his face. “You were having a nightmare,” he explained. It was still fully dark, not long past midnight. There had been a dragon in the dream. Corrupted, horrible. And it had been… speaking. She could almost hear it still, even awake, a faint song, dark and oily on the edge of her consciousness. She shivered. “The Archdemon, right?” Alistair asked, sitting back.

“How did you know?”

“I get them too. They say it’s worse for those that Join during a Blight though, I don’t envy you that. The voice you heard… It’s how the archdemon speaks to the horde.”

“We get the dreams for the same reason we can sense the darkspawn, then.”

He nodded. “Through the corruption, yes. Some of the older Wardens said they could almost understand what it was saying… so there’s that to look forward to, I suppose.”

Ava huffed a laugh, still trying to shake the voice from her head. “Thank you, Alistair, that’s terribly comforting.”

“That’s what I’m here for: to deliver bad news and witty one-liners.” 

“I’ve yet to hear evidence of the second.”

“Oh, you wound me, my lady. You have the next watch.”

The morning did little to soothe Ava’s worry. A second trip to the tavern produced one (heinously expensive) healing potion of dubious quality and a rumored sighting of a Dalish tribe on the edge of the Brecilian forest. Alistair argued that in light of the news about Arl Eamon’s health, they should proceed to Redcliffe with all haste, but the rumor put the Dalish only two days away, whereas it would take a week to reach Redcliffe on foot. 

“We can get horses in Redcliffe, and go back to the Dalish much faster,” Alistair pointed out.

“If they’re even still around by the time we get back this way. They’re a nomadic culture, this is the best chance of knowing where any of them are that we are likely to get.”

“We don’t know how much time Eamon has! We need to speak to him, and he could be dying.”

“He could already be dead, Alistair. How long has Ser Donall been away from Redcliffe?” Alistair opened his mouth to reply, then grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“...Fine. You’re right. Let’s just… get going, then.” She’d expected more of an argument, but that was it. 

They weren’t two miles out of Lothering when Alistair’s head snapped up and he glanced over at Ava. 

“Darkspawn?” she asked. She could feel...something, an oily sort of presence that slid across her spine and itched behind her eyes. Similar to the voice of the archdemon in her dreams, but slightly less ominous. 

Alistair nodded at her. “Ahead of us, maybe eight of them.” His sense of them seemed more precise than hers, and she wondered as she drew her sword if hers would become so over time. She could feel that they were there, but not how many or in what direction. 

Darkspawn were not tactical masterminds. This was common knowledge. The biggest danger with darkspawn was not being outwitted, but outnumbered. Well, for some people the biggest danger was they never learned how to keep their teeth together in a fight, so even if they weren’t injured they ran the risk of contracting the blight sickness. But as for “darkspawn tactics,” only the Archdemon’s influence kept them cohesive enough to be considered a fighting unit. These eight had somehow become separated from the bulk of the horde, and so were even less cohesive than usual. It would be worth wondering (later) about how the horde’s hive mind worked, exactly. For now, however, killing darkspawn was the primary concern.

Ava was briefly stunned into absolute stillness as Sten waded into the fight with nothing but his bare fists. A hurlock rushing her direction brought her back to her senses, and as she jammed a dagger up under its ribs she made a mental note to find a sword -any sword- for Sten before their next fight. Leliana had exchanged her chantry robes for armor before they left that morning, and in addition to the daggers that Ava still wasn’t sure where she was concealing, she had produced a very well crafted shortbow and was making good use of it. The darkspawn were disposed of in fairly short order, to the intense relief of the merchants. Ava tried not to watch Sten off to one side, calmly wiping black blood from his hands as she accepted the dwarf’s thanks. 

“We’re awful lucky you came along when you did! My name is Bodhan Feddic, and this here’s my boy Sandal.” In her peripheral vision, Sten picked up a sword from a fallen darkspawn and gave it an experimental swing. 

“Charmed, I’m sure. Which way were you headed? I don’t recommend south.” The jagged sword was discarded, Sten having apparently judged it unsatisfactory. 

“No, we were coming from the south. On our way up to Redcliffe, and then on to Denerim, or perhaps Amaranthine.” A greataxe, this time, one that Ava was sure she would have struggled to even lift, but which somehow looked like a toy in Sten’s hand. 

“We’ll be headed north for at least a few days, you’re more than welcome to join us, if you like. What do you sell, by the way?” Sten rejected the greataxe as well, his expression briefly flickering to muted disgust before going back to the blank stoicism that seemed to be his default.

“Oh, this and that,” Bodhan said. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“A sword, I think,” she told him. “Greatsword, probably. Something big.” The merchant followed her gaze and nodded. 

“I think I have just the thing for you.”

Sten’s reaction to the sword Bodhan had provided was, perhaps predictably, laconic. He’d checked the balance, given it a swing, and said “it will serve.” And that was that, apparently. When they made camp for the night, the Brecilian Forest looming in the near distance, he had sat just inside of the circle of light created by the campfire with oil and a whetstone and silently worked at the edge until he deemed it satisfactory. He had taken the first watch, along with Finn, who seemed to have taken a liking to him. 

“You will allow a dog to take a watch?” Leliana had asked, bemused in a distinctly Orlesian way. 

“Of course,” Ava had told her without hesitation.

“You know the old saying about Mabari: smart enough to talk, but wise enough not to,” Alistair had chimed in. “Trust me, you couldn’t ask for better protection.” The two Wardens had ended up with the second watch, relieving Sten and his newly very sharp sword. Finn curled up next to Ava and went right to sleep, leaving her and Alistair listening to the silence. He’d been terribly quiet again most of the day. Whatever Arl Eamon was to him, the news of his illness had hit Alistair hard, and he was retreating into the broody silence he had maintained all through their trek out of the Wilds. Ava did not want to pry about Eamon, but talking about Duncan might help. 

"Alistair." 

He looked up from the fire, slightly startled. "Yes?" 

"Do you want to talk about it? About Duncan, I mean." 

"I… You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him very long." 

"But he was important to you, and you've been… Distant. So if you need to talk about it, it's alright. I mean, " 

"It's just… I can't help but feel I should have been there, with him." 

"He saved your life, you know, sending you to the tower."

"I know. It's foolish, I know, but I still wish I could have done something." 

She nodded. She'd watched that guilt eating away at him since they left Flemeth's, had felt it herself ever since leaving home. The weight of being the one to walk away, when those you loved had not. 

"When all this is over, I think I'd like to go back for him; give him a proper burial if I can. Doesn't seem right, leaving him. I don’t think there is even anyone we can tell he’s gone, at least until we can get word to Weisshaupt. He mentioned coming from Highever, once, but he didn't have anyone there, or anywhere as far as I know."

"He had you," she offered, and Alistair looked surprised. 

"I… I suppose he did, at that.” He was quiet again for a moment, before asking her: “Have you ever lost someone close to you? You just seem like you know what… it's like…" He trailed off awkwardly at her suddenly blank expression, belatedly recalling her referring to her father in the past tense back in the Korcari Wilds. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that, I shouldn't have pried." 

"It's fine. I have, I do. I think I can safely say that I know how you feel, Alistair," she told him, with a tight smile. "Anyway, I think it's about time to wake the next watch, isn't it?" 

* * *

They’d been wandering along the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest for a few days now. They were still generally headed north, and so were technically making progress toward Redcliffe in the event that it became clear the Dalish would not show themselves before they needed to turn west. Alistair was getting more antsy about the Arl with every passing day, and Ava had begun to realize that she could _ feel _ his anxiety, in the same spot in her chest where she could always feel that he was nearby. 

“If they don’t want to be found, we’re not going to find them,” he said, for the third time in 3 days. 

“I know,” she said. Behind her, Morrigan groaned. Morrigan, they were finding, was not a particularly patient woman, and she’d had enough of this particular conversation by the time they had finished having it the first time. “Just give it one more day, Alistair, then we’ll head west. We’re going to have to come back here if we don’t find them this time, you know.”

“I know, it’s just…” He trailed off and shrugged. He didn’t have anything to say that they hadn’t said already, and he knew what her answer would be, and he knew she was still right. 

“Take another step and you’ll die where you stand, shem.”

Ava and Alistair froze, causing the others to stumble to a stop behind them. “Ah. Found them,” Ava said cheerfully. Alistair pulled a face that was probably a silent plea not to get them all shot by being flip. She ignored him and scanned the shadows for the source of the voice. Above them, in the branches of an oak tree that must have stood there since the Steel Age, were three elves with hard eyes and drawn bows. Ava raised her hands to show them empty. “We’re not here to start trouble,” she said. One of the elves scoffed, but Ava ignored him and continued. “I am a Grey Warden. We’ve come to ask that you honor the old treaties; help us stop the Blight.” 

“We have our own troubles, shem. Why should we involve ourselves in yours?”

“The Blight doesn’t discriminate between elves and men and dwarves; all Thedas is in danger.”

The three elves glared at them a moment longer, then conferred quietly amongst themselves. After a brief but clearly heated exchange, the woman, who seemed to be the leader and had won the argument, spoke. “We will take you to the Keeper. He shall decide whether the clan will agree to this.” 

She could feel eyes on her as they followed the hunters through the camp; more eyes than the number of elves she could actually see. She glanced up at Alistair and knew he could feel it too. Finn seemed to think they were safe though, and that made her feel better. The mabari was far better at reading the room, as it were, than any human she’d ever known, so if he wasn’t on edge, she didn’t have to be either. She focused on that feeling of calm, willing Alistair to sense it. The wariness in his body language didn’t wane, but she thought a little of the tension might have seeped out of his shoulders. 

The Keeper introduced himself as Zathrian. “I apologize if the hunters were...less than hospitable. We rarely have pleasant interactions with humans, I am afraid.” 

“I understand,” Ava said with a nod. 

“They tell me you are here about the old Warden treaties,” he continued. “I wish we could assist you, truly. But as you can see, we are in no position to fight a war at this time.” All around him, wounded and ill elves lay on pallets and stretchers in varying states of consciousness. 

“When you mentioned unpleasant encounters with humans…” 

“No, not this. This was done by werewolves, Warden.”

“Sorry, werewolves?” Alistair asked, frowning.

“Indeed. Less of a myth than you think,” Zathrian added, clearly anticipating what Alistair was thinking. “They attack us viciously and without cause. We have always made sure to avoid encroaching on their territory, but something has changed. A demon has taken control of the pack, and delights in tormenting us.”

Ava closed her eyes, trying not to sigh. “A demon. And werewolves. And your people?” she gestured to the sick around them. “Is there something we can do to help them?”

“It is no normal illness, Grey Warden. This is a curse, the demon’s magic. The only way to save them is to destroy it.”

Naturally. “Very well, we will help you. But understand, Keeper, that we must have your help. I will do whatever is in my power to save your people, but the Blight must be stopped.”

“Of course. With the curse lifted, we will be able to move on from here and help you in your fight.” 

Would that it were actually so simple. 

_ Demons? Sure. Werewolves? Ok, weird, but whatever. A talking tree that only communicates in verse? That’s my limit, though. Wait, really? That’s my limit?  _ Ava’s world had become so very, very strange in such a very short time. She remembered stories from her childhood, stories of werewolves haunting the forests of Ferelden, but they had been just that,  _ stories _ , legends, fairy tales. What’s worse, they talked. Zathrian had insinuated that they were simple beasts, directed by a demon he referred to as Witherfang, but they  _ talked _ . And the demon… Well. It - she? - had been reasonable, willing to talk, willing to compromise, hopeful about finding a peaceful resolution. She had also suggested that Zathrian knew more about the curse, and about the werewolves’ motives, than he had told them. So, after a long day of fighting angry werewolves, getting yelled at by angry werewolves, running errands for a  _ tree _ , and fighting undead (and more werewolves!) in ancient ruins, they were backtracking through those self same ruins to have a little chat with Zathrian. Ava wanted the full picture. Alistair wanted out of the woods. 

“So...are we going to take sides with a demon, here? I only ask because I like to know what I’m getting into, you know…”

“I don’t think it’s technically a demon, though. Aren’t demons usually...I don't know, angrier?”

This drew a look that could only be described as long-suffering from the former Templar, but she shook her head at him before he could continue and before Morrigan could interrupt with something snarky. 

“Perhaps things will become clearer when we have the whole story,” Leliana said serenely, examining the fletching on an arrow she had pulled from a dead skeleton. She had somehow managed to get through this whole weird day with not a scratch nor drop of blood on her, every strand of her short red hair still in place. Ava had a growing suspicion that the Chantry sister had been a bard in her past life, but she definitely wasn’t about to ask, though. People didn’t turn to a life in the Chantry like she had out of a desire to talk about their pasts, after all. Whatever she had been, she had a right to a fresh start. Beside that, if she  _ was _ a bard, poking about in her personal affairs without permission was likely a health hazard.

As it happened, they would not have to wait as long for the full story as they thought: Zathrian met them at the entrance to the ruins. Armed and armored, Ava noticed. 

“We were just on our way to speak with you,” she said.

“And yet the demon still lives.”

“Well, yes,” Alistair said, frowning. “We wanted some clarification on the whole curse thing. But how did you know?”

“T’was he who cast the curse, isn’t that so?” Morrigan cut in before Zathrian could answer. The Keeper’s eyes narrowed and he shifted his weight slightly, not quite dropping into a combat stance, but close enough to it to make the Wardens and their party tense in kind. 

“What did she tell you, then?” Zathrian sneered. “That those wicked creatures were the victims? Did she tell you how they killed my son and violated my daughter? How my little girl found herself with child by one of those wretched  _ shemlen _ , and her pain and grief drove her to her death as well? Yes, it was I who cast the curse. I’ll not lift it; they deserve to be punished for what they did to my family!”

“These werewolves are not mindless, remorseless monsters, Zathrian. Come down and speak with them, at least. No one else has to die today.”

“And why should I?” he scowled. 

“Because we’re not leaving this place until you do. Because if you attack me, either to get out or to get to Witherfang, I’ll kill you. Because there is no good reason not to? Take your pick, Keeper.”

Getting Zathrian in the room with the werewolves was one thing. Getting them to listen to each other was quite another. 

“The men who hurt your children are long dead, Zathrian. Those you punish now were not yet born when your curse was cast.” The spirit, the Lady, reached out to the elf, pleading. 

“And that makes them innocent? Shems are all the same; they take what they want and care nothing for the wreckage they leave behind.” A glow was building on the end of Zathrian’s staff: he was preparing for a fight. Ava, without pausing to consider the wisdom of the idea and ignoring the hand Alistair reached out to stop her, stepped between the Keeper and the Lady. 

“Zathrian, wait.” He whirled on her, magic still coalescing on his staff, static building in the air around it. 

“You cannot break this curse, Grey Warden, and I  _ will _ not. You came to us for help fighting the Blight; if you want it you will stand aside.” 

“You cannot bring your family back by cursing innocents, Zathrian. You’re hurting  _ your own people _ now, you must see that.” Zathrian wavered, but did not stand down. Ava shook her head. “Believe me when I tell you, I understand the desire for revenge. I know what it is to lose everything. But if revenge doesn’t stop with the men responsible, then where?” The light around Zathrian’s staff faded and so did he, shrinking in on himself before dropping to his knees. The Lady dropped down beside him, still reaching out, but not quite touching him. 

“You can end this, Zathrian. It is time to let go.” 

Ava crouched on the cracked tiles beside them. “How do we lift the curse, Zathrian?” 

“I tied it to my life force. I can release it, but we -the Lady and I- will both die.”

“It is alright, Zathrian, it is time.” Zathrian took the Lady’s offered hand and tightened his grip on his staff as magic began to build around him again, a darkness centering on his chest and building out until it filled the underground chamber, then dissipated in a crack of ozone and white light. When they could see clearly again, the Zathrian and the spirit were gone, leaving only the staff where they had knelt, and where the werewolves had been there was a crowd of slightly shell shocked and very naked humans.

Alistair immediately fixed his gaze on something up in the rafters, the tips of his ears bright red. Morrigan smirked, Leliana and Sten both appeared entirely unmoved, and Ava, somehow tasked with the job of being in charge and therefore talking to everyone, determinedly looked directly into the face of the man who had been the werewolf called Swiftrunner and tried to ignore her own blush. 

“What will you do now?”

“Return to society, I suppose,” he rumbled. “Our old lives are gone, but we can make new ones. Far from here, I think.” 

“That sounds like a good idea. Umm. You may wish to find some clothes first.”

He chuckled, and Ava could feel her face going even redder. “That might be wise. I am sure we will manage. Good luck to you, Grey Wardens. And thank you.”

Ava was incredibly glad to be out of the ruins. Fresh air, trees that didn’t talk (at least, not these specific trees, at the moment, she wasn't about to risk starting a conversation with any of them), a distinct and refreshing lack of armed and angry skeletons. Alistair fell into step beside her, hooked his thumbs in his belt and gave her a sidelong look. “So… werewolves, blood magic, talking trees, undead. Very exciting day, hmm?”

“Blood magic?” Ava was no mage, but she thought she would have noticed blood magic happening. Morrigan rolled her eyes, but Alistair nodded. 

“Binding spirits usually is. But beside that it’s sort of a...feeling, you know? I’ve only encountered it a few times before, but it’s not something you forget.”

Ava nodded thoughtfully. “Can you teach me that?”

Alistair looked surprised, and then flustered. “Teach? Me? I, uhh… I don’t know about that. I’m, uhh… I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, so Ava let it drop. She got the sense that Alistair didn’t know how good he really was, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up. “Anyway, here’s hoping that was the weirdest thing we’ll have to go through to get this army thing together.”

“Oh, Alistair, I _wish_ you hadn’t said that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you thought you'd heard the last of me, yeah?  
> you may notice that i have adjusted the geography of the game's map a bit (Lothering is further north on the map than Redcliffe). i have done this because while i recognize that bioware has made some cartographic decisions, they're dumb decisions and i don't have to listen to them.


End file.
